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Exit, no exit |
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written
by julia625 / 10.24.2005 |
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Assignment |
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After seeing Roman Holiday more times then I care to admit, I was excepting my descent down the Spanish steps to be glamorous, magical, and at the very least, romantic. I was half expecting, and maybe slightly hoping, for a dashing Italian (possibly with a likeness to Gregory Peck?) to stop me midway down the steps with a long stemmed red rose and a tasteful kiss on the cheek. No such luck. There were, however, long stemmed red roses. Surprisingly enough, they are not as romantic when receiving one from a stranger who immediately expects a 4 euro payment. The rose “vendor” was detour number one. After that, I stopped to take two photos, backtracked up and around a few steps to avoid a creepy looking Italian man who was whistling at all the pretty girls, and veered off to the far left so I wouldn’t disturb all the happy gelato eaters sitting pretty much everywhere. Although none of the detours were particularly enjoyable, all added to the general atmosphere of Italian life that permeated the Spanish Steps.
I left the Via Veneto with a different sensation. There was not a single detour in my journey. Instead of enjoying the stroll up to the American Embassy and back, I felt more out of place then anything in my cotton skirt and linen shirt. Women on this street preferred sleek suits and tailored pants paired with Prada pumps and a Gucci purse. Not exactly the style I seemed to have adopted while in Rome. I wanted to escape as quickly as possible; I felt as though I was breaking some unspoken rule that made up the very streets we walked on by simply being there. I made my exit as soon as I had the chance into the "saftey" of the Capuchin Crypts.
Unfortunately, I sensed a very similar desire to escape when I entered the crypts of Santa Maria della Concezione. Just as on the Via Veneto, I felt very out of place. The difference was that instead of feeling like a leper as I did on the high profile street, here I felt like I was intruding on the privacy and sanctity of someone else’s intimate space. Like the Spanish Steps, I was drawn through the crypts with a very clear end in mind (escaping), yet found many detours that were impossible to avoid. Much to my dismay, I spent a good five minutes in the fourth room staring in awe at the intricate patterns created on the ceiling using vertebrae from human spines. Despite my intense need to escape the crypts, the detours I took once inside seemed very necessary in contributing to my overall experience of fascinated horror.
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